Open
by EnchantedApril
Summary: Another little oneshot although I can see this may get a part2 as well. House and Cameron and a frustrating day and a fight House wasn't expecting.


_Another little short... these are much easier for me to write now while my mind is rather full and my waking hours are shorter... SaintsandSaviors is still being written however... I have another 4 pages done, it's just harder to concetrate enough to do it justice. My appt with the specialist is today so hopefully they will figure something out and get me back to my healthy self!_

OPEN

He wasn't surprised when he found her in the lab organizing the equipment. She had her back to him but he knew she had heard his approach. Her back had stiffened and her hands had stilled.

"You still get too emotionally involved," he said. The words weren't said with any malice or denigration intended, they were simply the facts as he saw them.

"Maybe you don't get involved enough," she snapped back, not quite regretting her words even when they bounced off the cold tile walls and back to her ears.

A loud step and the muffled thump of rubber stabbing linoleum and House was beside her.

"Don't get involved enough? Where the hell do you think I was last night? At my second home, in bed with someone else? No. I was here all night, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Isaac T. Raymond. Unfortunately my own sleep deprivation was yet another thing that couldn't cure him." He was angry, and each syllable knifed through the air between them making her flinch.

"I'm sorry," she said without looking up, tone still flat and controlled.

"Damn right you should be sorry," House muttered.

Even after all this time it was unusual for him to open up and try to be the comforting partner he'd seen scripted in a hundred sappy movies. Granted, his attempt was pretty feeble, but having it thrown back in his face stung. Badly.

Cameron glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was standing beside her, but facing the door, his brows a straight line above his eyes, jaw clenched tight. She knew she should apologize and mean it, but she was tired and upset, and she just didn't have the energy. Anyway, how many times had he made hurtful, off-handed comments to her without the slightest trace of remorse? The fact that he hadn't done so in quite some time was one that she chose to conveniently ignore.

House thumped his cane against the floor a few times. Shouldn't she be saying something? Or was he still supposed to be talking? Crap. This was why he didn't do sensitive scenes. Two knuckles cracked as he tightened his grip. Another breath. Then another. He shot her a quick look and walked to the door.

"You coming home any time soon?" he said roughly before he pushed against the glass and steel,

"Yeah… I'll… I'll be there a little later," she replied, fingers turning white where they pressed against the counter.

"Fine. I won't wait up." He slammed his hand against the door much harder than necessary and stalked through it wishing that it wasn't on a tension hinge that made it impossible for him to slam shut.

It was still light outside, but only dimly so, the sun having long since sunk below the horizon, casting the city into a nebulous twilight. House had watched as it went, throwing out dazzling colors in a last attempt to retain a hold on the sky. With a hollow and echoing thump, House's tennis ball hit the place in his window where the sun had last been seen. He caught it on the rebound and tossed it again, this time slightly higher and to the left.

Hurried footsteps slowed to a halt outside his office and he threw the ball again and cursed himself for not closing the door.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be home enjoying some connubial bliss?" Wilson asked lightly, swinging himself into the office and leaning against the doorway.

No answer.

He took a step inside and settled his hands on his hips. "I heard about your patient. Sorry. I saw Cameron earlier and she looked upset. I know she was the one to tell his wife the news, and that always gets to her."

Mention of Cameron garnered a twitch and a reprieve from the sound of felt-covered rubber hitting glass.

"Did something happen between you and Cameron? That why you're still here? Did you two have a fight?" Wilson's eyebrows pulled together and formed a crease above his nose. House and Cameron bantered, bickered, teased and taunted, but they didn't fight; at least not that he'd ever heard about.

"I don't think you could call it a fight," House replied at last, swiveling in his chair and settling the tennis ball on his desk, only to pick up his cane and start twirling it. "More like one person hurling an insult at another person."

Wilson took his hands off his hips and folded his arms instead, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. "What the hell did you say this time?"

House's jaw tightened, cheeks looking slightly more concave if that were possible as a flush of annoyance spread up his neck. "As a matter of fact, she was the one who insulted me. And what do you mean 'this time'? I've never insulted her."

Despite Wilson's surprise, he had to roll his eyes at House's last remark.

"Fine, I've insulted her, but I never meant it."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it either. She was upset."

"Yeah, well so was I and I was trying to make her feel better, damnit. See if I ever try that again." He thumped his cane hard against the floor as his mouth worked itself into several positions varying from distaste to anger.

The leather chair squeaked slightly as Wilson flopped down into it. "How long have you been together?"

House shrugged and went back to twirling his cane. "A while."

"Not a while," Wilson corrected, "almost a year. And you've been living together for almost half of that. One of you was bound to get hurt eventually."

Blue eyes snapped to attention and the cane froze in mid-spin.

"I'm not hurt, I'm pissed off."

"Try again."

House dropped his cane across his knees. "I guess I expected her to be the one who got hurt."

Wilson chuckled. "Now that, I can believe. How much hurt are we talking about, anyway… one being a hangnail and ten being a kick to the nads."

A look of droll sarcasm spread across House's features. "A stubbed toe."

"I figured as much. Cameron's too nice to be really mean, and you've always been a big whiner."

House picked up his tennis ball and threw it at Wilson's head. Fortunately Wilson was expecting that and caught it with practiced expertise.

"So where did Cameron go? Home?"

"Not sure. She said she'd be heading home in a while. I told her I wouldn't wait up, and then I came up here."

"To sulk."

The tiny lines around House's eyes grew tighter as he glared at his soon-to-be-ex friend.

"To think. But the air suddenly seems a bit thick in here," he announced as he pushed himself out of his chair

An understanding and sympathetic smile pulled at the corners of Wilson's mouth. "This is what relationships are like, Greg," he told him. "You care, you love, you open yourself up enough to say things you wouldn't say otherwise, you hurt and feel guilty, you get hurt and forgive, and then you climb into bed and thank God you've got someone there next to you."

House paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. "You're turning into a real philosopher there. Dr. Phil had better watch his back."

"Yeah. Three failed marriages gives a person a lot of insight."

A deferential nod and a sigh. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jim."

"Yeah. G'night."

Night had officially fallen and House looked out over the city from his lofty perch, feet making occasional scuffing noises against the concrete, fingers drumming on the steel rail that topped the brick and mortar wall.

Something Wilson had said was still lingering in his brain. Something about opening up. Saying things you wouldn't otherwise say. He huffed out a breath of air. Speaking his mind had never been a problem for him. He did it to a startling degree most of the time. The only time he had any reservations at all was when he approached the subject of his feelings, and even that barrier had been breached with alarming frequency over the past year.

Cameron was different. Feelings were her strong suit. Lashing out in anger and frustration? No. That was something she didn't do. One time, and only one time, she had turned to him, furious and hurt and called him a bastard. He'd deserved it and had only been surprised that she hadn't followed it up with a string of other curses. He'd probably deserved similar treatment a number of other times, but until they'd started dating she'd never called him on them. After that line was crossed she had no problem telling him exactly where to go if he pushed her too far, and such instances had become more and more rare, but she had still never taken out her frustrations on him. He knew she probably had enough to fill a short novel. Cases that hadn't gone their way. Clinic patients who asked for the 'real doctor' and not the 'nurse'. Patients who had died. She took that harder than any of them and with good reason. Aside from Chase, none of the rest of them had ever lost a loved one before their time.

A belabored sigh was forced from House's lungs and into the warm night air.

It was strange to think that he should feel grateful for her unwarranted insults. Grateful that she felt safe and secure enough to fling them. Apparently opening up didn't always refer to love. He made a mental note to remind Wilson to write a book. Maybe he could get in on part of the royalties. After casting a last look over the light-dotted city, he turned around. He hoped Cameron wasn't waiting at home for him, all alone.

She wasn't.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Just a minute," she said with a slight twitch of her shoulders.

He ambled towards her, cane sounding strangely hollow against the rooftop. "How'd you even know to come up here?"

"Stacy."

His look said it all.

"A few months ago when I was looking for you… during the O'Brian case… she said you used to like to come up here. You wound up being up in the OB/GYN lounge, but I hear their tv's on the fritz so I figured you wouldn't be there tonight." She added a little smile, trying to get them back on firm footing.

"Yeah. It's also too late to catch any of the good soaps."

Cameron's smile faded away and she let her eyes drift over the planes of his face, noting the look of casual relaxation that seemed just a bit too tight around the edges. Her eyes met his briefly before she spoke.

"Greg… I'm sorry I snapped at you."

She had done a lot of thinking down in the lab, along with recalibrating every centrifuge and restocking all of the microscope supplies. She'd felt guilty almost immediately, and had then stifled that guilt in an attempt to feel justified, but had ended up just feeling somewhat empty. She'd successfully pushed him away when all she really wanted was his arms around her. That was when she'd gone looking for him.

House took another step forward and they were standing just arms' length apart. "How many times have I apologized to you after one of my verbal assaults?"

Cameron's teeth found her lower lip and she worried it for a moment before answering. "A couple… but I know that's just how you are. When you get in a mood, you're a bastard to everyone."

"And you're never a bitch to anyone," House said mildly.

She blushed slightly. "I'm not good at confrontations."

"Luckily I seem to make up for you in that department." He held out one arm in invitation and Cameron eagerly closed the space between them and let her arms settle around his waist.

"I was just upset," she murmured against his chest.

"I know. Good thing I was available for you to vent some of that frustration on. Wouldn't want to have to start prescribing you high blood-pressure meds."

Cameron tilted her head back and looked up at him. "I thought you'd still be mad."

"Yeah. I thought so too, but then it occurred to me that you'd only stepped on my toe. At least you hadn't kicked me in the balls."

Her finely arched brows edged upwards and he ran a hand through her hair and pressed her head back against his chest.

"I love you," he said, tossing her even further into confusion.

"What?"

"I figured we should both do something we aren't very good at."

She pulled back and searched his face again, finding a quirky sort of peace there. Strangely enough, she found herself almost understanding him.

"Ready to go home?" She took his hand without waiting for a reply.

"Yeah. During the drive, I may decide I'm still upset after all, and let you spend the night earning forgiveness," he said with a playfully lecherous grin.

Her grin matched his in sly innuendo. "I think that could be arranged."


End file.
